Boys and girls from Thackeray - Kate Dickinson Sweetser
Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23
"I like to dine here," he said to his aunt when he had completed his
meal, at the conclusion of which, and after a decent grace by Sir Pitt,
the younger son and heir was introduced and was perched on a high chair
by the Baronet's side, while the daughter took possession of the place
prepared for her, near her mother. "I like to dine here," said Rawdon
minor, looking up at his relation's kind face.
"Why?" said the good Lady Jane.
"I dine in the kitchen when I am at home," replied Rawdon minor, "or else
with Briggs." This honest confession was fortunately not heard by Becky,
who was deep in conversation with the Baronet, or it might have been
worse for little Rawdon.
As a guest, and it being the first night of his arrival, he was allowed
to sit up until the hour when, tea being over and a great gilt book being
laid on the table before Sir Pitt, all the domestics of the family
streamed in and Sir Pitt read prayers. It was the first time the poor
little boy had ever witnessed or heard of such a ceremonial.
Queen's Crawley had been much improved since the young Baronet's brief
reign, and was pronounced by Becky to be perfect, charming, delightful,
when she surveyed it in his company. As for little Rawdon, who examined
it with the children for his guides, it seemed to him a perfect palace of
enchantment and wonder. There were long galleries, and ancient state
bed-rooms; there were pictures and old china and armour which enchanted
little Rawdon, who had never seen their like before, and who, poor child,
had never before been in such an atmosphere of kindness and good cheer.
On Christmas day a great family gathering took place, and one and all
agreed that little Rawdon was a fine boy. They respected a possible
Baronet in the boy between whom and the title there was only the little
sickly, pale Pitt Blinkie.
The children were very good friends. Pitt Blinkie was too little a dog
for such a big dog as Rawdon to play with, and Matilda, being only a
girl, of course not fit companion for a young gentleman who was near
eight years old, and going into jackets very soon. He took the command of
this small party at once, the little girl and the little boy following
him about with great reverence at such times as he condescended to sport
with them. His happiness and pleasure in the country were extreme. The
kitchen-garden pleased him hugely, the flowers moderately; but the
pigeons and the poultry, and the stables, when he was allowed to visit
them, were delightful objects to him. He resisted being kissed by the
Misses Crawley; but he allowed Lady Jane sometimes to embrace him, and it
was by her side that he liked to sit rather than by his mother. Rebecca,
seeing that tenderness was the fashion, called Rawdon to her one evening,
and stooped down and kissed him in the presence of all the ladies.
He looked her full in the face after the operation, trembling and turning
very red, as his wont was when moved. "You never kiss me at home, Mamma,"
he said; at which there was a general silence and consternation, and by
no means a pleasant look in Becky's eyes; but she was obliged to allow
the incident to pass in silence.
But the greatest day of all was that on which Sir Huddlestone
Fuddlestone's hounds met upon the lawn at Queen's Crawley.
That was a famous sight for little Rawdon. At half-past ten Tom Moody,
Sir Huddlestone Fuddlestone's huntsman, was seen trotting up the avenue,
followed by the noble pack of hounds in a compact body, the rear being
brought up by the two whips clad in stained scarlet frocks, light,
hard-featured lads on well-bred lean horses, possessing marvellous
dexterity in casting the points of their long, heavy whips at the
thinnest part of any dog's skin who dared to straggle from the main body,
or to take the slightest notice, or even so much as wink at the hares and
rabbits starting under their noses.
Next came boy Jack, Tom Moody's son, who weighed five stone, measured
eight and forty inches, and would never be any bigger. He was perched on
a large raw-boned hunter, half covered by a capacious saddle. This animal
was Sir Huddlestone Fuddlestone's favourite horse, the Nob. Other horses
ridden by other small boys arrived from time to time, awaiting their
masters, who came cantering on anon.
Tom Moody rode up presently, and he and his pack drew off into a
sheltered corner of the lawn, where the dogs rolled on the grass, and
played or growled angrily at one another, ever and anon breaking out into
furious fights, speedily to be quelled by Tom's voice, unmatched at
rating, or the snaky thongs of the whips.
Many young gentlemen cantered up on thoroughbred hacks, spatter-dashed to
the knee, and entered the house to pay their respects to the ladies, or,
more modest and sportsmanlike, divested themselves of their mud-boots,
exchanged their hacks for their hunters, and warmed their blood by a
preliminary gallop round the lawn. Then they collected round the pack in
the corner, and talked with Tom Moody of past sport, and the merits of
Sniveller and Diamond, and of the state of the country and of the
wretched breed of foxes.
Sir Huddlestone presently appears mounted on a clever cob, and rides up
to the Hall, where he enters and does the civil thing by the ladies,
after which, being a man of few words, he proceeds to business. The
hounds are drawn up to the hall-door, and little Rawdon descends among
them, excited yet half alarmed by the caresses which they bestow upon
him, at the thumps he receives from their waving tails, and at their
canine bickerings, scarcely restrained by Tom Moody's tongue and lash.
Meanwhile, Sir Huddlestone has hoisted himself unwieldily on the Nob.
"Let's try Sowster's Spinney, Tom," says the Baronet; "Farmer Mangle
tells me there are two foxes in it." Tom blows his horn and trots off,
followed by the pack, by the whips, by the young gents from Winchester,
by the farmers of the neighbourhood, by the labourers of the parish on
foot, with whom the day is a great holiday; Sir Huddlestone bringing up
the rear with Colonel Crawley; and the whole train of hounds and horsemen
disappears down the avenue, leaving little Rawdon alone on the doorsteps,
wondering and happy.
During the progress of this memorable holiday little Rawdon, if he had
got no special liking for his uncle, always awful and cold, and locked up
in his study, plunged in justice business and surrounded by bailiffs and
farmers, has gained the good graces of his married and maiden aunts, of
the two little folks of the Hall, and of Jim of the Rectory, and he had
become extremely fond of Lady Jane, who told such beautiful stories with
the children clustered about her knees. Naturally, after having his first
glimpse of happy home life and his first taste of genuine motherly
affection, it was a sad day to little Rawdon when he was obliged to
return to Curzon Street. But there was an unexpected pleasure awaiting
him on his return. Lord Steyne, though he wasted no affection upon the
boy, yet for reasons of his own concerning only himself and Mrs. Becky,
extended his good will to little Rawdon. Wishing to have the boy out of
his way, he pointed out to Rawdon's parents the necessity of sending him
to a public school; that he was of an age now when emulation, the first
principles of the Latin language, pugilistic exercises, and the society
of his fellow boys would be of the greatest benefit to him. His father
objected that he was not rich enough to send the child to a good school;
his mother, that Briggs was a capital mistress for him, and had brought
him on, as indeed was the fact, famously in English, Latin, and in
general learning; but all these objections were overruled by the Marquis
of Steyne. His lordship was one of the Governors of that famous old
collegiate institution called the White Friars, where he desired that
little Rawdon should be sent, and sent he was; for Rawdon Crawley, though
the only book which he studied was the racing calendar, and though his
chief recollections of learning were connected with the floggings which
he received at Eton in his early youth, had that reverence for classical
learning which all English gentlemen feel, and was glad to think that his
son was to have the chance of becoming a scholar. And although his boy
was his chief solace and companion, he agreed at once to part with him
for the sake of the welfare of the little lad.
It was honest Briggs who made up the little kit for the boy which he was
to take to school. Molly, the housemaid, blubbered in the passage when he
went away. Mrs. Becky could not let her husband have the carriage to take
the boy to school. Take the horses into the city! Such a thing was never
heard of. Let a cab be brought. She did not offer to kiss him when he
went, nor did the child propose to embrace her, but gave a kiss to old
Briggs and consoled her by pointing out that he was to come home on
Saturdays, when she would have the benefit of seeing him. As the cab
rolled towards the city Becky's carriage rattled off to the park. She
gave no thought to either of them when the father and son entered at the
old gates of the school, where Rawdon left the child, then walked home
very dismally, and dined alone with Briggs, to whom he was grateful for
her love and watchfulness over the boy. They talked about little Rawdon a
long time, and Mr. Crawley went off to drink tea with Lady Jane, who was
very fond of Rawdon, as was her little girl, who cried bitterly when the
time for her cousin's departure came. Rawdon senior now told Lady Jane
how little Rawdon went off like a trump, and how he was to wear a gown
and little knee breeches, and Jack Blackball's son of the old regiment
had taken him in charge and promised to be kind to him.
The Colonel went to see his son a short time afterwards, and found the
lad sufficiently well and happy, grinning and laughing in his little
black gown and little breeches. As a protege of the great Lord Steyne,
the nephew of a county member, and son of a Colonel and C.B. whose
names appeared in some of the most fashionable parties in the Morning
Post, perhaps the school authorities were disposed not to look unkindly
on the child.
He had plenty of pocket-money, which he spent in treating his comrades
royally to raspberry tarts, and he was often allowed to come home on
Saturdays to his father, who always made a jubilee of that day. When
free, Rawdon would take him to the play, or send him thither with the
footman; and on Sundays he went to church with Briggs and Lady Jane and
his cousins. Rawdon marvelled over his stories about school, and fights,
and fagging. Before long he knew the names of all the masters and the
principal boys as well as little Rawdon himself. He invited little
Rawdon's crony from school and made both the children sick with pastry,
and oysters, and porter after the play. He tried to look knowing over the
Latin grammar when little Rawdon showed him what part of that work he was
"in." "Stick to it, my boy," he said to him with much gravity, "there's
nothing like a good classical education! Nothing!"
While little Rawdon was still one of the fifty gown-boys of White Friar
school, the Colonel, his poor father, got into great trouble through no
fault of his own, but as a result of which Mrs. Becky was obliged to make
her exit from Curzon Street forever, and the Colonel in bitter dejection
and humiliation accepted an appointment as Governor of Coventry Island.
For some time he resisted the idea of taking this place, because it had
been procured for him through the influence of Lord Steyne, whose
patronage was odious to him, as he had been the means of ruining the
Colonel's homelife. The Colonel's instinct also was for at once removing
the boy from the school where Lord Steyne's interest had placed him. He
was induced, however, not to do this, and little Rawden was allowed to
round out his days in the school, where he was very happy. After his
mother's departure from Curzon Street she disappeared entirely from her
son's life, and never made any movement to see the child.
He went home to his aunt, Lady Jane, for Sundays and holidays; and soon
knew every bird's-nest about Queen's Crawley, and rode out with Sir
Huddlestone's hounds, which he had admired so on his first
well-remembered visit to the home of his ancestor. In fact, Rawdon was
consigned to the entire guardianship of his aunt and uncle, to whom he
was fortunately deeply devoted; and although he received several letters
at various times from his mother, they made little impression upon him,
and indeed it was easy to see where his affections were placed. When Sir
Pitt's only boy died of whooping-cough and measles--then Mrs. Becky wrote
the most affectionate letter to her darling son, who was made heir of
Queen's Crawley by this accident, and drawn more closely than ever by it
to Lady Jane, whose tender heart had already adopted him. Rawdon Crawley,
then grown a tall, fine lad, blushed when he got the letter.
"Oh, Aunt Jane, you are my mother!" he said; "and not--and not _that_
one!" But he wrote a kind and respectful letter in response to Mrs.
Becky, and the incident was closed. As for the Colonel, he wrote to the
boy regularly every mail from his post on Coventry Island, and little
Rawdon used to like to get the papers and read about his Excellency, his
father, of whom he had been truly fond. But the image gradually faded as
the images of childhood do fade, and each year he grew more tenderly
attached to Lady Jane and her husband, who had become father and mother
to him in his hour of need.
As for George Osborne, the little boy whom Rawdon Crawley had given a
ride on his pony long years before, the fates had been much kinder to him
than to Rawdon. He had had no lonely childhood, for although he had no
recollection of his handsome young father, from baby days he was
surrounded by the utmost adoration by a doting mother. Poor Amelia,
deprived of the husband whom she adored, lavished all the pent-up love of
her gentle bosom upon the little boy with the eyes of George who was
gone--a little boy as beautiful as a cherub, and there was never a moment
when the child missed any office which love or affection could give him.
His grandfather Sedley also adored the child, and it was the old man's
delight to take out his little grandson to the neighbouring parks of
Kensington Gardens, to see the soldiers or to feed the ducks. Georgie
loved the red coats, and his grandpapa told him how his father had been a
famous soldier, and introduced him to many sergeants and others with
Waterloo medals on their breasts, to whom the old grandfather pompously
presented the child; as on the occasion of their meeting with Colonel
Rawdon Crawley and his little son.
Old Sedley was disposed to spoil little Georgie, sadly gorging the boy
with apples and peppermint to the detriment of his health, until Amelia
declared that Georgie should never go out with his grandpapa again unless
the latter solemnly promised on his honour not to give the child any
cakes, lollipops, or stall produce whatever.
Amelia's days were full of active employment, for besides caring for
Georgie, she devoted much time to her old father and mother, with whom
she and the child lived, and who were much broken by their financial
reverses. She also personally superintended her little son's education
for several years. She taught him to read and to write, and a little to
draw. She read books, in order that she might tell him stories. As his
eyes opened, and his mind expanded, she taught him to the best of her
humble power to acknowledge the Maker of All; and every night and every
morning he and she--the mother and the little boy--prayed to our Father
together, the mother pleading with all her gentle heart, the child
lisping after her as she spoke. And each time they prayed to God to bless
dear papa, as if he were alive and in the room with them.
Besides her pension of fifty pounds a year, as an army officer's widow,
there had been five hundred pounds left with the agent of her estate for
her, for which Amelia did not know that she was indebted to Major Dobbin,
until years later. This same Major, by the way, was stationed at Madras,
where twice or thrice in the year she wrote to him about herself and the
boy, and he in turn sent over endless remembrances to his godson and to
her. He sent a box of scarfs, and a grand ivory set of chess-men from
China. The pawns were little green and white men, with real swords and
shields; the knights were on horseback, the castles were on the backs of
elephants. These chessmen were the delight of Georgie's life, who printed
his first letter of acknowledgment of this gift of his godpapa. Major
Dobbin also sent over preserves and pickles, which latter the young
gentleman tried surreptitiously in the sideboard, and half killed himself
with eating. He thought it was a judgment upon him for stealing, they
were so hot. Amelia wrote a comical little account of this mishap to the
Major; it pleased him to think that her spirits were rallying, and that
she could be merry sometimes now. He sent over a pair of shawls, a white
one for her, and a black one with palm-leaves for her mother, and a pair
of red scarfs, as winter wrappers, for old Mr. Sedley and George. The
shawls were worth fifty guineas apiece, at the very least, as Mrs. Sedley
knew. She wore hers in state at church at Brompton, and was congratulated
by her female friends upon the splendid acquisition. Amelia's, too,
became prettily her modest black gown.
Amidst humble scenes and associates Georgie's early youth was passed, and
the boy grew up delicate, sensitive, imperious, woman-bred--domineering
over the gentle mother whom he loved with passionate affection. He ruled
all the rest of the little world round about him. As he grew, the elders
were amazed at his haughty manner and his constant likeness to his
father. He asked questions about everything, as inquiring youth will do.
The profundity of his remarks and questions astonished his old
grandfather, who perfectly bored the club at the tavern with stories
about the little lad's learning and genius. He suffered his grandmother
with a good-humoured indifference. The small circle round about him
believed that the equal of the boy did not exist upon the earth. Georgie
inherited his father's pride, and perhaps thought they were not wrong.
When he grew to be about six years old, Dobbin began to write to him very
much. The Major wanted to hear that Georgie was going to a school, and
hoped he would acquit himself with credit there; or would he have a good
tutor at home? It was time that he should begin to learn; and his
godfather and guardian hinted that he hoped to be allowed to defray the
charges of the boy's education, which would fall heavily upon his
mother's straitened income. The Major, in a word, was always thinking
about Amelia and her little boy, and by orders to his agents kept the
latter provided with picture-books, paint-boxes, desks, and all
conceivable implements of amusement and instruction. Three days before
Georgie's sixth birthday a gentleman in a gig, accompanied by a servant,
drove up to Mrs. Sedley's house and asked to be conducted to Master
George Osborne. It was Woolsey, military tailor, who came at the Major's
order, to measure George for a suit of clothes. He had had the honour of
making for the Captain, the young gentleman's father.
Sometimes, too, the Major's sisters, the Misses Dobbin, would call in the
family carriage to take Amelia and the little boy a drive. The patronage
of these ladies was very uncomfortable to Amelia, but she bore it meekly
enough, for her nature was to yield; and besides, the carriage and its
splendours gave little Georgie immense pleasure. The ladies begged
occasionally that the child might pass a day with them, and he was always
glad to go to that fine villa on Denmark Hill, where there were such
fine grapes in the hot-house and peaches on the walls.
Miss Osborne, Georgie's aunt, who, since old Osborne's quarrel with his
son, had not been allowed to have any intercourse with Amelia or little
Georgie, was kept acquainted with the state of Amelia's affairs by the
Misses Dobbin, who told how she was living with her father and mother;
how poor they were; but how the boy was really the noblest little boy
ever seen; which praise raised a great desire to see the child in the
heart of his maiden aunt, and one night when he came back from Denmark
Hill in the pony carriage in which he rejoiced, he had round his neck a
fine gold chain and watch. He said an old lady, not pretty, had been
there and had given it to him, who cried and kissed him a great deal. But
he didn't like her. He liked grapes very much and he only liked his
mamma. Amelia shrunk and started; she felt a presentiment of terror, for
she knew that Georgie's relations had seen him.
Miss Osborne,--for it was indeed she who had seen Georgie,--went home
that night to give her father his dinner. He was in rather a good-humour,
and chanced to remark her excitement "What's the matter, Miss Osborne?"
he deigned to ask.
The woman burst into tears. "Oh, sir," she said, "I've seen little
Georgie. He is as beautiful as an angel--and so like _him!_"
The old man opposite to her did not say a word, but flushed up, and began
to tremble in every limb, and that night he bade his daughter good-night
in rather a kindly voice. And he must have made some inquiries of the
Misses Dobbin regarding her visit to them when she had seen Georgie, for
a fortnight afterwards he asked her where was her little French watch and
chain she used to wear.
"I bought it with my money, sir," she said in a great fright, not daring
to tell what she had done with it.
"Go and order another like it, or a better, if you can get it," said the
old gentleman, and lapsed again into silence.
After that time the Misses Dobbin frequently invited Georgie to visit
them, and hinted to Amelia that his aunt had shown her inclination;
perhaps his grandfather himself might be disposed to be reconciled to him
in time. Surely, Amelia could not refuse such advantageous chances for
the boy. Nor could she; but she acceded to their overtures with a very
heavy and suspicious heart, was always uneasy during the child's absence
from her, and welcomed him back as if he was rescued out of some danger.
He brought back money and toys, at which the widow looked with alarm and
jealousy; she asked him always if he had seen any gentleman. "Only old
Sir William, who drove him about in the four-wheeled chaise, and Mr.
Dobbin, who arrived on the beautiful bay horse in the afternoon, in the
green coat and pink neckcloth, with the gold-headed whip, who promised to
show him the Tower of London and take him out with the Surrey hounds." At
last he said: "There was an old gentleman, with thick eyebrows and a
brown hat and large chain and seals. He came one day as the coachman was
leading Georgie around the lawn on the grey pony. He looked at me very
much. He shook very much. I said, 'My name is Norval,' after dinner. My
aunt began to cry. She is always crying." Such was George's report on
that night.
Then Amelia knew that the boy had seen his grandfather; and looked out
feverishly for a proposal which she was sure would follow, and which
came, in fact, a few days afterwards. Mr. Osborne formally offered to
take the boy, and make him heir to the fortune which he had intended
that his father should inherit. He would make Mrs. George Osborne an
allowance, such as to assure her a decent competency. But it must be
understood that the child would live entirely with his grandfather and be
only occasionally permitted to see Mrs. George Osborne at her own home.
This message was brought to her in a letter one day. She had only been
seen angry a few times in her life, but now Mr. Osborne's lawyer so
beheld her. She rose up trembling and flushing very much after reading
the letter, and she tore the paper into a hundred fragments, which she
trod on. "_I_ take money to part from my child! Who dares insult me
proposing such a thing? Tell Mr. Osborne it is a cowardly letter, sir--a
cowardly letter--I will not answer it! I wish you good-morning," and she
bowed the lawyer out of the room like a tragedy queen.
Her parents did not remark her agitation on that day. They were absorbed
in their own affairs, and the old gentleman, her father, was deep in
speculation, in which he was sinking the remittances regularly sent from
India by his son, Joseph, for the support of his aged parents; and also
that portion of Amelia's slender income which she gave each month to her
father. Of this dangerous pastime of her father's Amelia was kept in
ignorance, until the day came when he was obliged to confess that he was
penniless. At once Amelia handed over to him what little money she had
retained for her own and Georgie's expenses. She did this without a word
of regret, but returned to her room to cry her eyes out, for she had made
plans which would now be impossible, to have a new suit made for Georgie.
This she was obliged to countermand, and, hardest of all, she had to
break the matter to Georgie, who made a loud outcry. Everybody had new
clothes at Christmas. The other boys would laugh at him. He would have
new clothes, she had promised them to him. The poor widow had only
kisses to give him. She cast about among her little ornaments to see if
she could sell anything to procure the desired novelties. She remembered
her India shawl that Dobbin sent her, which might be of value to a
merchant with whom ladies had all sorts of dealings and bargains in these
articles. She smiled brightly as she kissed away Georgie to school in the
morning, and the boy felt that there was good news in her look.